


The Coffin

by MembraneLabs



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Buried Alive, Claustrophobia, M/M, Near Death, art prompt, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9932051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MembraneLabs/pseuds/MembraneLabs
Summary: Captain Haddock wakes to absolute darkness.





	

Captain Haddock wakes to absolute darkness. His head throbbing, the air hot and stale. There’s a weight on top of him that in his muddled state takes him too long to recognize as a body. He raises his hands, and finds the wool of Tintin’s plus-fours.

“Captain.” He can feel Tintin’s face above his in the dark, his voice tight and short-of-breath. Come to think of it, Haddock is feeling short of breath as well, but Tintin’s too light a thing on his chest for him to be the cause. 

“Blistering barnacles, lad, what—“ and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. The throbbing in his head becomes a sharp stab as he tries to move. “Got coshed proper, this time, it’ll hurt in the morning something—“

He blinks as a drop of water falls on his face. Confused, he tries to move his arm to wipe it away; his knuckles scrap against rough wood. Blind and still half-senseless from the blow, his hands reach out to his sides, to above, and below.

Wood, all around, and no room to turn.

Air, hot and stale and thick.

Dark, the blackest his eyes have ever known. 

“Captain, you mustn’t panic—“ Tintin whispers, a tremor in his voice as he shifts on top of Haddock. In a distant part of his mind, Haddock laughs—isn’t that just typical, Tintin trying to make him more comfortable when there is absolutely no other position Tintin can take, no room for him to move elsewhere to.

And strangely enough, he isn’t panicking; his brain doesn’t yet believe it. It’s too grotesque, too horrific. 

“This is the end, isn’t it, lad?” he says instead, his hands falling back to Tintin’s hips, the sensation of wool under his fingers an anchor in a world gone mad.

Buried alive.

Buried ALIVE.

“I tried—I woke up, I could still hear them, throwing the dirt, but it was too heavy, I couldn’t—“

And another drop of water falls on Haddock’s face. He manages to snake his arm up to wipe his face. Impulsively, he then reaches gently into the darkness above him, and finds the same wetness on Tintin’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Tintin says, and in his ragged breath Haddock can hear what he’s not saying. ’I’m sorry I got us into this’, ‘I’m sorry I dragged you along’, ‘I’m sorry I got us killed’, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save us’.

So this is it. Really IT, this time. 

Surprisingly, he’s not angry. There’s not enough room for anger in a coffin holding two. He’s not even frightened, but then again he’s still disoriented. 

The only thing Haddock keeps coming back to is regret. 

He finds he couldn’t lower his hand from Tintin’s face even if he wanted to. All he has is touch now, can’t see a blessed thing. He knows how rough his hands are, so with a feather-light touch he maps out the features underneath his fingertips. How often had he wanted to do this very thing? How often did he convince himself what he had was enough? How often did he fool himself into thinking there would be TIME? 

He doesn’t know how much air they have, but from the feeling in his lungs and the tingle on his lips and based on past experience, it’s not much at all. Fifteen? Twenty minutes?

Not even enough blasted time for the slightest bit of all he has to say. Even in less dire circumstances. 

“Tintin—“ and he leaps into the chasm, and raises his aching head.

They’re too close already for it to be an entirely blind shot, but his lips met Tintin’s messily. He takes that kiss however, the desperate wish of a dying man. He only hopes that Tintin can be magnanimous enough to forgive him this, his last act of folly on this earth—

But as he tries to lower his face away, Tintin surges forward with a half choked sob. His arm comes up, snaking underneath Haddock’s shoulders, pulling him close. His lips find Haddock’s once more, short of breath but full of fire and bitterness. 

All that wasted time, years of wanting and not risking—

No. Not wasted time. Just…incomplete.

It can’t last long, and doesn’t. His head falls back, the lack of air making him weak.

“Captain.” Tintin’s hand is uncharacteristically clumsy as he runs it through Haddock’s hair. He lays his head in the crook of Haddock’s neck; his hot breath is ragged over his skin. Haddock shudders at the sensation, and tightens his arms around Tintin.

“I love you, lad,” he forces out, the barest of whispers against the silence of the grave. In his chest his heart is beating so hard it HURTS, and he can feel the sweat rolling off him. His awareness is fading; he can feel his lungs rebelling, demanding air. Asphyxiation is not a dignified way to go; his body twitches, spasms, ordering he move, FIGHT—

“Captain—captain, do you hear that?” Tintin gasps, but his words are just at the edge of Haddock’s consciousness. 

He thinks of Marlinspike. He thinks of Cuthbert, old friend. He thinks of the things he’s done that have meant the most, and there, in each blessed memory, is Tintin. 

“Captain,” Tintin shakes his shoulder, but it’s weakly, oh so weakly. “Can’t you hear it? Shovels, there are shovels I—“ he pauses for a heartbeat. “There! We’re safe! Just—hold on. Please—PLEASE--“

He’d do it all again, every blistering thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ 02/20/12
> 
> Prompt from the Tintin Kink meme:
> 
> I would like to see a fic around the amazing artpiece Nonick has drawn for us some time ago based on the prompt 'Kissing for the Last Time'. I would like an angst-ridden story of our couple getting buried in a coffin and please please pleeaaaase let them both discover something inventive that gets them both out alive because I deal so badly with angst. xD
> 
> I prefer unestablished relationship (because love confessions in death situations are so romantic for some reason) but it's up to the author
> 
> The Picture in question: http://nonick4now.dreamwidth.org/566.html


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